


Today's Road Is So Long

by ohladygrey



Category: Weirdsister College
Genre: F/M, Mentioned Constance Hardbroom/OFC, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 09:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6417982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohladygrey/pseuds/ohladygrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several years after they last saw each other, Millie needs Hobbes' help with a dangerous curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today's Road Is So Long

_"Perhaps I have put forth too much strength and been too fierce from fear." – A Leaf-Treader, Robert Frost_

* * *

The timber of the floor was cold against the young woman’s bare feet even though sunlight streamed in through a slanted skylight and large picture windows, facing east onto a small courtyard garden. A ginger and white cat with eyes like burnt caramel weaved itself in and out of her legs as she absentmindedly paced, eyes fixed on the papers she held in her hand.

She was not a remarkable young woman. About twenty-six or so with wavy, shoulder-length brown hair, not tall and with a slight build, Mildred Hubble was in fact very normal-looking. Well, at first glance. The cat had given up trying to get her attention and had curled itself up on the sofa, watching her. “Don’t look at me like that, this is important,” she murmured to it distractedly. “I think we’re going to need some help.”

Stopping in front of her fireplace, she took a pile of ash and placed it on the floor and at once dipped her slender fingers in, colouring them an unsettling grey.

She began to draw.

On the sofa, the cat slowly closed its eyes. Mildred kept working for a few moments and then closed her eyes, murmuring a few words to herself. The ash lifted off the floor, becoming a three-dimensional shape, stretching and blinking at the woman kneeling on the floor.

She opened her eyes, which seemed to glow with something _other_. “Well then Toff, I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t important.” The ash cat, a perfect replica of the one on the sofa in all but colour, flicked its tail, head cocked at her to show it was listening. “I need you to find someone for me.”

Spreading the remainder of the ash on the floor, the young woman’s left hand hovered over it. Energy buzzed in the air and the ash cat sneezed silently and without breath as it leaned in and sniffed at the likeness that now appeared in the ashes. The cat nosed at the picture for a while longer before looking up, flicking its tail once more, and then disappearing up the chimney. Millie nodded with satisfaction, dusting off sooty fingers before sweeping the ash back into the fireplace.

“Now then,” her voice was very quiet as if every syllable was an immense effort and her skin took on a sickly cast. “We’ll just have to wait.”

* * *

The ash cat flowed through the air with ease. The scent was strong, stronger than many of the other ones he’d had to follow. It was often the way with memories. His mistress knew that well. The scent carried him closer to home than he’d expected though the more he felt the scent, the more it made sense.

The man he’d been sent for felt like her; someone with magic. The ash cat alighted on a shingled roof. There was no chimney. If ash cat could have sighed, he would have. There was a protection on the house, that felt gentle, clever and warm all at once, much like the man inside. He threw his scent at it and it laughed, letting him slip through an open window, onto cool tiles and a dimly lit room. Rain was coming.

The man felt different and the same from the memories, softer and stronger rather than sharper and sadder. He was sat with a book and looked up as ash cat sat on the pages. This was important; there was no time for manners. Mistress wouldn’t approve.

“And how did you get through the wards, hm?” the man asked holding his hand out to ash cat, who felt it appropriate to butt it with his head, if only to be contrary. He was a cat, after all. “I see. There’s no question who you’re from, is there? And what is it that she wants with me, after all this time?”

The stupidity of humans exasperated ash cat. He flicked his ear back, eyes narrowing. This was important. There was no time for soft strong man to be angry. “Forgive me. I’m to come quickly, then? I’ll get my coat. Looks like rain though. I suppose you’ll be wanting a lift too?”

The ash cat pounced onto the man’s shoulder after he put on another skin and sniffed the power/stick/stone in his hand. Finally, they were ready to leave. The man had been away too long and ash cat needed to get back into his skin. He was worried when his mistress was alone.

* * *

Millie felt the tingle of her magic settling back into her skin and knew Toffee was back in his body. She looked in the mirror one last time, taking in the familiar features, only jumping slightly as she heard a knock on the door. Toffee rubbed up against her leg, looking up at her with his big, wide eyes, trying to comfort her.

She smiled weakly and walked down the hall to the door, pausing just a second before opening it.

And there he was.

Nick Hobbes had changed about as much as she had – barely. He was taller; his dark hair was slightly longer, gathered messily back at the nape of his neck. His eyes were still had an expression of intense focus in them, though the arrogance seemed to be replaced with a gentle self-assurance. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t seem like the angry young man she’d known years ago. His coat was grey almost verging on black and he had a twisted, ancient-looking cane with a large nuummite for a head at his side.

“Hello Mildred.” His voice was deeper, if that was possible. After all this time, he was the only person who could imbue her full name with a resonance that made her feel nervous and curiously excited. She couldn’t help the small smile that lifted the corners of her mouth.

“It’s good to see you Hobbes,” she replied, stepping back and opening the door wider for him. He stepped through and, after shutting the door, she led him through to the lounge where Toffee looked at him curiously before starting up a purr that sounded a little like an old engine. Hobbes bowed his head solemnly at the cat and sat at the small table where Millie had set up a pot of tea.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I sent for you after all this time,” she murmured, gently agitating the pot and not meeting his eyes. “It’s been years.”

“About seven and half,” Nick agreed evenly, looking out into the back garden where rain made everything glisten in the pale mid-morning light. “Madari is a prolific letter writer. He talked about you sometimes. He knew I’d like to know that you were happy.”

She coloured a little, pouring the tea rather than speaking straight away as she tried to think of what she could say to that. They hadn’t parted well and she’d started at least ten letters to him every year, but hadn’t known where to begin, the distance between them feeling like an ocean. “I know. I’m sorry.”

He winced and she worried her lips between her teeth. He’d never been good at saying what he meant and her honesty had always made him feel uncomfortable. Things were always going to be strained between them, but she’d hoped the years might have lessened that. “You’ve been busy. I heard you were working with the medics at St Abinen’s,” Hobbes changed the topic deftly.

“Yes,” Mille was relieved to get to the point. “That’s what I needed you for. I know you’ve been looking into counteracting curses with origins in negative magic.”

He didn’t look surprised. “I suppose you would have kept in touch with Madari too.”

“No- well, I mean yes, but I- Azmat didn’t tell me that. I didn’t need him to.” She tried not to be distracted by the way Hobbes’ eyes seemed to be able to see right through her. She looked down and found herself studying his hands as they held his cup. He wore a ring on the middle finger of his right hand.

“Making sure I don’t get into too much mischief without you there to keep me in line, hm?” his voice was slightly bitter. He’d always been sardonic when he got uncomfortable.

“Nick-”

“I didn’t mean that,” he interrupted abruptly. “It’s been a long time. I’m not quite sure what I meant.”

They both looked out the window as thunder rumbled in the distance and the rain began to pour in earnest. Millie wondered if on days like this he remembered their last moment together, with the smell of earth and magic all around them, the way his hands had clutched her hair, the things they’d said– she shook her head. She was sure he’d probably had many more rainy days to compete with that one.

She sipped her tea and leaned back in her chair as Hobbes turned back to look at her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “My work is highly experimental, Mildred, and I’m sure I needn’t remind you that you have Magister Cophin at your disposal. He outranks me.”

“Magister Cophin is currently in Egypt, but that’s not the only reason I wanted you. I can’t trust Cophin with this, not with– the thing is it’s not about someone else. It’s me, Hobbes,” her voice broke a little and she looked away, not wanting to act like the girl she once was, crying at every little thing that went wrong. She was stronger now, she hoped. Toffee butted his head against her foot before jumping onto her lap and settling himself there, purring comfortingly against her stomach.

He didn’t even make a sound if she held him a little too tightly.

Hobbes was silent, but she could almost feel his eyes burning into her. The space of seconds dragged on before he spoke, his voice tight as he tried to reign in some sort of emotion. “Millie, I think you need to explain.”

She closed her eyes. “You already know I’m sure, but I do have a habit of attracting trouble. Three months ago, a patient was admitted to my unit. She had the Sleep put on her and, as you may have gathered, I was asked to show them the curse. There was nothing remarkable in that.”

That was primarily her work at St Abinen’s. She was able channel her highly visual magic into showing a scan of a person’s body, much like an x-ray. Except instead of bones her simulacrum showed the magic pathways in the body, like nerves or veins and arteries. Even most non-magic folk had some magical pathways, but in the case of those who were cursed, these channels were rife with residual magic.

When you studied the residue, you could find the key to unlock a curse. Magical residue was like a fingerprint – unique to each witch and wizard, however far more complex than that. It could reveal the key to unlocking a curse. Sometimes it was as simple as a counter-curse. Sometimes it was a potion. But always, with every action there is a reaction.

Millie could picture the girl now. She had been young, barely sixteen, with skin like rich coffee. She was beautiful, her face so peaceful despite the tumult of the curse raging through her body. Her magic pathways, beneath the residue, spoke of a quiet and subtle sort of magic Millie often came to associate with witches and wizards who were adept with natural magic. She would have, given time, been able to make the trees sing. _Surely_ , she had thought at the time, _someone out there wants their daughter back._

“It was simple enough,” Mildred continued, her voice growing more brittle. “Cophin said all it needed was a word trigger but it turned out whoever put the curse on this girl was a bit cleverer than that. The word trigger released a hidden curse underneath the Sleep.”

She opened her eyes but decided not to look at Hobbes, instead focusing all her attention on extracting some folded papers from the pocket of her cardigan without dislodging Toffee from his spot on her knee. Without speaking, she held them out to him and he took them gently, unfolding them with care. “As you can see, whoever did this to her had a sadistic streak ten miles wide.”

A bit of hair escaped the confines of the tie and fell across Hobbes’ face as he bent over the first page, examining it intently. “So he put the Sleep on her and when you said the trigger it morphed into this. I assume this poor girl is dead,” he concluded, his voice laced with anger. “I would usually appreciate such advanced spell-craft as this, but used to this end… this is pure cruelty. What could be more terrifying than dying in your worst nightmare? But more importantly Mildred, what has all this got to do with me?”

Millie swallowed, feeling as if she was just finding this out for the first time yet again. “The second page.” She hadn’t expected her voice to come out so calmly. Hobbes did as he was bid and looked at the other page – a representation of her own magic pathways.

Moments that felt like an eternity passed before Hobbes looked away from the paper, his face looking pinched and mouth tight with anger. “As you can see,” she struggled to keep her voice nonchalant. “I don’t have much time left.”

Hobbes stood abruptly, the chair he’d been sitting on clattering to the floor as he turned away. “This isn’t magic,” he hissed, his shoulders set and his whole body stiff with anger. “And because it’s feeding off your magic, not the caster’s, he’s getting none of the repercussions.” Toffee, despite the commotion, surveyed the scene with an air of serenity even as Hobbes’ anger grew.

It was simple, really. When someone tried to break the curse on the girl, that girl was killed and the curse-breaker was hit with a nasty surprise. The second curse was designed so that the person on the receiving end controlled it. If they didn’t realise they were cursed, it would take effect sooner. The more magic Millie used, the more powerful the curse grew inside her. Worse still, witches and wizards used magic all the time in small parts – stopping any magic from flowing out of her would be like trying to stop her blood flowing through her veins.

And the nature of the curse? Well, that was the most clever part. Once the curse had drained all her magic, it would release inside of her and burn her up like a star exploding.

And the girl died without anyone knowing her name. They still couldn’t locate her family.

All of it was like some sort of cruel play, put on by people who only wanted to watch the world burn and people suffer.

Nick turned back to her and though he was angry, his voice was very soft when he asked, “So why me? I should think you’d want _anyone_ other than me to help you with this.”

Gently, Millie prodded the cat off her lap and stood, walking over to Hobbes, whose dark eyes followed her progress intently. “Do you need to ask?” gently, she took his right hand, finger tracing the Celtic knots of the ring she’d noticed earlier. His left still rested on that cane. “I told you once before – you’re extremely clever.”

“And vain, if I recall,” he murmured, moving closer to her. “You always liked to point out the best and worst of me, Millie. I remember the last thing you said to me particularly well – you told me I hadn’t changed at all.”

“That wasn’t the last thing,” her voice was a breathy whisper as she felt the light touch of his lips on her forehead. “I was so angry at you. You always manage to make me so angry.”

She felt his smile, her eyes fluttering closed. His lips ghosted over her eyelids and the slight stubble against her skin set her nerve ends on fire. After all this time, he still had an electrifying effect on her when they were together. “Mildred, I-”

“Don’t.” She placed her fingers on his lips, opening her eyes. He was so close. “Don’t say anything you wouldn’t say if I wasn’t dying.”

He turned his head to kiss her palm. “Well then. You always did seem to know my intentions before I even put them into words. And you are _not_ dying, Hubble. Not like that poor girl. That’s why I’m here.” He pulled back, tapping the cane once on the ground. It grew to staff size before her eyes and she almost grinned at the satisfied look on Hobbes’ face. He always enjoyed a bit of showmanship.

“You need me because you think the key to getting rid of this curse is a potion, correct?” he asked as he concentrated on the piece of nuummite at the tip of the staff which was now roughly the size of a fist, the gold inside the stone flashing with what she supposed was Hobbes’ magic.  At Mildred’s nod he continued, “I am flattered. Though, given you know my proficiencies in this area, perhaps I shouldn’t get too ahead of myself.”

When he was at work, face set in concentration, she could see lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth and the subtle things about him that had changed. He was different, more sure of himself. He’d always put on a show of being completely confident in what he was doing, but half of that was bravado. He didn’t like seeming weak and he certainly didn’t like revealing too much of himself. But he had grown. He was a man now, just as she was a woman. Were they still the same people, essentially?

“I’ve sent for Magistra Hardbroom,” he told her as he shrunk his staff back down again. “I think we’ll need her. Brilliant as I am, I don’t think this is something we can do alone.”

Mildred was well and shaken from her thoughts by the mention of the familiar witch. “Miss Hardbroom? How do you know her?” she asked. She wanted that tea more now she’d calmed down, if only for something to do with her hands. It would be cold now, though.

“She’s one of the most feared and powerful witches in Great Britain. Of course I asked her to take me on as an apprentice for some time. She said no of course. I eventually wore her down though.” Hobbes’ smile was charming. “I think it may have been because I mentioned you.”

Mildred ignored Hobbes’ teasing and checked the pot of tea – yes, cold. She couldn’t serve cold tea to Constance Hardbroom. Hobbes followed her into the kitchen as she emptied the tea into a jug (she didn’t like to be wasteful and it would make a decent iced tea later) and set about brewing another pot. Miss Hardbroom liked Earl Grey, she remembered, somehow recalling that in the midst of everything. “How long will she be?” The tea could probably wait, but she felt nervous now in the wake of what had passed between them.

The wizard touched the nuummite briefly. “An hour, give or take. She hasn’t received my message yet, but I let her know it was urgent. As it is I think we can wait till then to discuss the particulars, hm?”

Hobbes’ way of ending his sentences was annoyingly familiar as was his consideration of her. He’d never been intentionally cruel. He took a seat on one of the stools at the counter island, making himself comfortable and finally unbuttoning and shrugging off his coat to reveal a plain bottle green button-down underneath. It was only then she thought to ask him what he’d been doing with himself since college. “I thought you were keeping tabs on me,” he said after laying his coat over his lap.

“I was,” she agreed, also taking a seat so she had a good view down the hall towards the front door. “But I only heard bits and pieces. Only enough to make sure you were- well, to know you were doing alright.”

Hobbes looked thoughtful at that, but only proceeded to begin what was surely a condensed version of the last seven and a half years. It was a start.

* * *

Millie could say with absolute clarity, now that she was no longer twelve years old, that Constance Hardbroom was still one of the scariest witches she had ever encountered. But there could be no denying she had style. Looking not a day over thirty-five, the older witch’s inky hair was in a sleek high pony-tail and her lipstick was barely a shade lighter, though it had a purple hue to it. “Well Mildred,” she sat primly on one of the kitchen stools, looking around with an air of indifference. “It seems I’m never to be rid of you. What is it this time?”

“Something a little more complicated than the usual brand of Mildred mischief, Magistra,” Hobbes said before Millie even had a chance to reply. Hardbroom’s eyes seemed to become more focused as she lifted her cup to her lips and inclined her head at the young wizard, urging him to continue. He retrieved the papers Millie had drawn from where he’d unceremoniously dumped them on the table in anger before handing them to his mentor and saying, “The first is a picture of a girl our Miss Hubble treated at St Abinen’s. The second is Mildred.”

Miss Hardbroom – or Magistra, as Mildred should have called her now they were adults of equal academic standing – focused intently on the pages, running her fingers over the drawings, her eyebrows drawing tightly together as she examined the likeness of Millie’s pathways. She couldn’t help feeling as if her every fibre was under a magnifying glass, as if everyone could see the very essence of her. In a way, she supposed they could.

She felt Hobbes’ hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting. She silently thanked him by covering it with her own, not quite being able to form the words. He had always been presumptuous, but now he was measured. He knew what she needed now was his friendship and more than anything, that’s what she had missed about him. He was funny, charismatic and clever, all things that Millie appreciated in a friend. It was his flaws though, big and glaring, that had always created a distance between them.

Millie wasn’t even sure if it mattered now, though.

“Mildred, if you weren’t already in danger of losing it already, I _would_ hex you within an inch of your life.” Though her words were severe, Magistra Hardbroom’s face was anguished. “What on earth possessed you to do such a thing? No, I know, you always were rushing headlong into trouble, especially if you saw some wrong to be righted.”

One of her hands rested on the simulacra of the magical pathways, her chin rested on the other as she looked at Hobbes and Millie, her sharp eyebrows pinched together. “And _you_ Mr Hobbes. You of all people should have been able to see a layered curse, even one this complex.”

“It’s not his fault Miss- Magistra Hardbroom.” Millie couldn’t help but feel a blush rising to her cheeks. “I- well, you see, he didn’t know about this until about two hours ago. We haven’t spoken in years.”

“I see.” The older witch fixed Hobbes with a withering look, though Millie wasn’t quite sure it was warranted. “Well. It seems you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said to you. And Mildred? You are no longer my student and I am going to be trying to save your life. Do call me Constance.”

She nodded and with a decisive flick of her wrist, Magistra Hardbroom summoned a book to her hand, a weighty tome some centuries old. “Such things, of course, are outlawed in the magical community and for good reason. Do you have any notion of who did this?” She was all business as she gently turned the pages, brittle and yellowed with age.

“No. We tried to do a tracking spell on his magical signature but that led us nowhere. We’re still trying to find out who the poor girl was and why such a thing happened to her. I’m afraid it might be a dead end.”

“Highly likely. What must we do then?” she hummed to herself, while scanning a page. “Mr Hobbes, we will be brewing in the obsidian cauldron, for best results. Ground cabbage moth perhaps. Petrified guarana, dried belladonna berries… Mildred, you must understand that with magic this aggressive, an aggressive potion is required. If this does not work you may die from ingesting any of this, rather than being cured.”

Hobbes’ face was pinched as Millie glanced at him, eyes bright as if with a fever and his jaw set. She felt the loss of warmth from his hand on her shoulder keenly. Despite her best efforts, she probably looked about as dismal as he. Toffee, who had been watching the scene from a safe distance on the couch, made himself useful by rubbing against her legs, his rumbling purr comforting and familiar.

When she could reply, her answer was firm. “I know. I’ve seen this sort of thing before. If there is no cure, the magic has nowhere to go but into my body. But M- Constance, I’ll die even if I don’t try and,” Millie lifted her chin, “I’d rather die fighting.”

Magistra Hardbroom’s mouth twisted into a smile that was equally amused and exasperated. “Of course you would. Well, let’s begin.”

* * *

The sky had darkened to an inky black and no stars shone through the cloud cover. The moon was thin sliver of anaemic light. In Millie’s little house there was an air of exhaustion. Books had been read and re-read, her pathways examined over and over again. If there was a definitive answer it was eluding them all. All they had was speculation.

The young witch didn’t know if she wanted to risk her life on speculation. But as it was, she would die anyway, whether she took this risk or not.

“We all need to rest,” Magistra Hardbroom’s voice, though fatigued, was still like a whip-crack through the silence of the night. “None of us are of any use to each other like this. Mildred, you have another bedroom in this house, I believe?”

Hobbes, face intent over the bubbling mixture in the fireplace, leaned back some, rubbing his eyes wearily. He was still there when Millie returned from showing her old teacher to the small spare room, looking at nothing with his arms crossed against his chest. “Are you going to stay, Nick?” she asked softly, not wanting to startle him.

He appeared unaffected by her presence and turned to look at her, the light of the fireplace casting strange shadows on his face. “I desperately hoped you could be better,” the words were gravelly, laden with emotion. “That was it, wasn’t it? The last thing you said.” It was phrased as a question, though there was no hesitation in his voice. She wondered if he had, like her, replayed them over and over in his mind.

Bone-aching weariness had been something of Millie’s constant companion since she had found out about the curse and she had grown used to it, but under the weight of those words, those memories, she felt as if she were a hundred years old. “Yes,” she sunk with sigh onto the couch. “But I understand now, more than then, that change comes slowly, if at all. You always had the capacity for darkness. But there was always an equal amount of lightness in there, too.”

“I think sometimes you were the only one who saw that.”

“Perhaps,” her voice turned fond as she looked at him, remembering the boy she knew all those years ago. “You always felt things more deeply than other people and expected more of them. And they kept letting you down.”

He still didn’t move away from the cauldron, his eyes fixed there once more. “You didn’t. I pretended to myself that you did. I blamed you for a lot of things, Millie. But hindsight always sheds illumination on the past and you always expected too much of me. Well,” he amended quickly. “Too much of me then. More than I could give.”

Her lips inched up slightly. “You were just a boy with a chip on his shoulder who felt like he always had something to prove. I was naïve and believed that I could just change you by hoping hard enough.”

“And have I changed, Millie?” It was a loaded question and though Hobbes’ tone was casual, they both knew it.

“The best parts of you are still there. Your intelligence. Your sarcasm. Your stupid showmanship. But you seem different. Focused. And you’ve thankfully abandoned that monstrous velvet jacket.”

She was rewarded with a chuckle and he looked at her, finally, his smile irrepressible. “And so I’m still clever, but I think you forgot the extremely handsome part.” He came towards her slowly, standing in front of her like a parody of that crucial moment, the one that really had tipped the balance in their relationship.

“If you knew all the answers then why did you ask?” she murmured, feeling her heartbeat in her chest growing quicker, her face feeling warm and tingly.

He sat beside her, but he was no longer hesitant. “Do you like me, Millie?” he asked gravely, though his eyes were playful.

“You know I do,” her voice was a whisper. She reached up, brushing his cheek with the back of her knuckles. “I must do, to have entrusted my life to you.”

Reaching up, he cupped her hand with his, laying her palm flat against his cheek. “I’m not saying this because you’re dying and I’m not overcome by some sort of wave of sentimentality for the past. I have loved you _everywhere_. In my past, now, and in the future. I don’t expect you to feel the same, but you need to know that. I couldn’t forget you.”

His eyes were hard and honest and she could see now more than anything the most notable change – his capacity to be patient, to wait, to _consider_. Old Nick would have just rushed in, kissed her, and forced her belief in him. Now he just was watching, waiting for her to make the decision, waiting for _her._ She leaned forward, her head tilted towards his, lips ghosting over his, so close but not yet touching. “Why do I have to start, when soon enough I’ll have to stop,” his breath tingled over her lips even as she spoke.

“Mildred-”

She closed the tiny gap between them, her lips meeting his finally. There was no burst of lightning, no surge of feeling – it wasn’t that sort of kiss. It was soft, hesitant, his lips barely moving beneath hers. It was comfort. She almost felt as if she would burst into tears at any second because it was so _familiar_.

And it came to her, that lurking feeling she’d had – she didn’t want to die. It should have been obvious because of _course_ she didn’t want to die. But at that moment she felt it in her bones, could feel as certainly as the magic stirring through her veins a future that was just waiting for her. She could taste it in Nick’s kiss. Feel it in his hands as they reached for her, cupping her face, cradling her tenderly.

They stopped before they’d really begun. She wasn’t in any state to do more and he wasn’t much better. “I was messed up about you for such a long time,” Millie told him, gently resting her forehead on his shoulder as his hand slid from her jaw to rest on the nape of her neck, where the ends of her hair tickled at his knuckles. “I must’ve started so many letters to you. I wanted to see you again. I just wish I hadn’t waited so long. I wish it hadn’t been for this.”

“Would you have? Written, I mean?” Hobbes’ fingers making slow gentle circles on her neck were very distracting.

“Maybe by the time we were fifty.”

“We’ll fix it. You, Hardbroom and I. We have to.”

She knew she shouldn’t, but in that moment, with the warmth of the hearth against their limbs and the taste of his kiss still on her lips, she let herself hope.

* * *

_“And what, Mr Hobbes, would I do with a boy like you running around in my personal laboratory?” Magistra Hardbroom’s eyes gleamed, piercing the young man before her as if she could see every part of him. Considering this was Constance Hardbroom, it may not have been too far from the truth._

_“You can ask anybody Magistra. It’s been said that I’m the best Potioneer to come out of Weirdsister in some years.” The upwards tilt of his chin was proud and challenging, but Constance had not been a teacher for all those years without knowing bravado when she saw it._

_She glanced at the door. It closed with a sharp crack. “I have heard that, Mr Hobbes, however that is not all I’ve heard, as I’m sure you’re well aware. You are friends of a sort with Mildred Hubble.” Gracefully taking a seat behind her large desk, she pretended to miss the slight flinch and the way Hobbes’ hands clenched behind his back. “No doubt you were involved in all sorts of catastrophes.”_

_He winced. “Unfortunately many of those catastrophes were of my design, not hers, Magistra. And I wouldn’t exactly call us friends. She gave up on me.”_

_Constance clicked her tongue impatiently, leaning back in her chair whilst motioning for Hobbes to take a seat. “You are not only a terrible liar, Mr Hobbes, but also prone to melodrama_ _. You wanted power. You wanted people to notice you. That has always been your fatal flaw. But that isn’t why you’re here, is it? You’re here to prove something as usual,” the last few syllables were weary. Was she ever to be rid of the constant trouble of Mildred Hubble?_

_He looked away, jaw clenched. “And what if I am?”_

_“I will not consider you as a candidate for an apprenticeship simply because you want to prove a point Mr Hobbes. I take my discipline very seriously. If you can convince me in 500 words or less that your interest is academic and outline a somewhat feasible plan for your future, then perhaps I will consider you,” she looked at him with a tight and challenging smile. “Your time starts now.”_

* * *

_“I had thought once you formally finished your apprenticeship I would never have to look at you again, Mr Hobbes. Instead here you are, darkening my doorway again. You know you had that same look on your face four years ago.”_

_Though she didn’t look up, Nick was unsurprised his mentor had noticed him. He smiled a little. “What look? And shouldn’t it be Magister, now? We’re equals.”_

_The look on Constance Hardbroom’s face was withering and every bit worth the remark. “If we were equals, Mr Hobbes, I would address you as such. You are still a boy. When you are truly my equal then, and only then, will I address you as such. However, you look as if you’ve another personal Rubicon to cross.” She leaned back in her chair, looking him up and down._

_If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she looked a little bit proud at the official robes he’d donned for the certification ceremony. “Perhaps,” he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”_

_“You want to ask me if Mildred Hubble would be impressed.”_

_Nick looked away from her piercing eyes. She knew far too much. “Mildred, as you and I both know, has studied under Renwarl. She is the only apprentice he has taken on in fifty years. And I-”_

_Magistra Hardbroom’s sigh was loud and impolite. “Mr Hobbes, you are no longer my student and as much as I enjoy these little bouts of sentimentality, I do not have to listen to them any longer,_ thank goodness _,” Hobbes opened his mouth. “However, I will give you this piece of advice – Mildred Hubble is forgiving to a fault. Go to her. Bitterness will fester inside you and strangle you like a weed if you nurture it.”_

_He gave a sort of sardonic smile. “How poetic, Magistra.”_

_She rolled her eyes. “Get out, Mr Hobbes.”_

_“A pleasure, as always,” he saluted her, straightening up, before pulling a small brown paper package from the pocket of his robes and tossing it to her. She caught it with one hand and, quirking an eyebrow, set about unwrapping it. After a fashion, she pulled an egg-shaped object from the unwrapped box. Its surface was smooth, a dark almost-black purple, with cracks of gold within._

_“It’s a ‘thank you’ gift. I thought I should put my research to good use,” he told her, trying to look nonchalant, but feeling completely out of his depth. “I’m only giving this to you because you are the only person I trust not to abuse this gift. There’s a simple transmission spell on there too. It’ll let me know if it somehow falls into the wrong hands and it will do the same for the piece I made. We should also be able to quickly communicate, should we ever have need of it.”_

_If he looked very closely, he could maybe make out a slight mistiness in his former teachers eyes, but she blinked and looked him straight on, no sign of tears now. “I am truly honoured, Magister,” she was serious, no hint of sarcasm in her voice. “I thank you for this precious gift. I will use it wisely.”_

_They were silent, something exchanged between them that was perhaps too fragile and alien to express with words, but then Magistra Hardbroom stood and extended her left hand. Hobbes moved forward and clasped it between both of his. “May the stars shine brightly on you as your journey continues, Constance.” The blessing was old. Old as magic itself, maybe. It was rare for someone to use it at all, but at this parting it felt right._

_The older woman softened, clasping their hands together with her right hand now. “And may the moon light your path home, young Nicholas,” she murmured in return. “Wherever that home might be.”_

* * *

Morning dawned with a feeble sun, peeking out from a veil of heavy fog. Millie lay, staring out her bedroom window at the pastel light, her very core feeling diminished and frail. She could hear the sounds of someone in the kitchen, bare feet on floorboards making a soft _pat_ as they moved with decided steps.

_Hobbes_.

She touched her lips – they felt dry and cold. Whatever warmth that had gathered there had been fleeting, as if her body was reminding her that there were more pressing matters to attend to.

Stirring herself from beneath her quilt, she quietly made her way out of the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom, setting about making a hot bath. Looking in the mirror, she shivered at her appearance. She’d never been tanned, but her complexion had been ruddy and healthy and now… now her skin was pale with a grey cast to it; looking down at her hands revealed quite visible veins beneath the surface. She did not wear death well.

Shaking her head, she turned off the taps and dipped her toe into the water that now filled the bath, hissing at the heat on her bare skin. She got in all at once, warmth enveloping her body as she submerged it beneath the water. It was pleasingly hot, penetrating the bone-aching cold that had seemed to become near-constant the weaker she grew and she closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself to relax if only for now. Work could come later.

The walls in the cottage were not thin, but she could hear the murmur of Hobbes and the Magistra as they discussed something or other in the kitchen. Until now, she hadn’t realised how lonely she had been. She’d had friends and one sort-of relationship in the years since college, but she hadn’t felt the close companionship of a person simply being there for some time and she found she missed it.

She missed her friends being around her, helping her and helping them. She missed being able to just be with other people in the quiet silence of companionship, familiar like a well-worn jumper. She missed the fun, the liveliness and the presence of people who knew and loved her.

Was it always so difficult, growing up? She knew she should be used to it by now. This was what adulthood was about – being independent, making your way in the world with your own life. But she hadn’t known it would feel so lonely. And even now, feeling those things and knowing that very soon she could be gone, she still selfishly wanted to cling to people and make them magically fix everything.

Millie couldn’t remember quite what it felt like to _not_ miss people.

“And lonely as it is, that loneliness will be more lonely, ere it will be less,” she murmured, opening her eyes to fix them upon the spirals of steam slowly rising from the water.

She didn’t want to die.

* * *

“What if,” Hobbes paused, looking down at the dark liquid in his mug, a crease between his eyebrows, “I used the stone?”

Millie trod lightly on the wood floor. Still, she heard Magistra Hardbroom’s sharp intake of breath. “Nicholas, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you about the repercussions of doing so,” she said sternly, her dark lips pursed together tightly now. She looked severer than Millie had ever seen her – older, too.

“What stone?” she asked softly, so as not to startle them. Hobbes barely managed to keep a hold on the mug in his hands. Constance simply looked at her, expression unreadable aside from the tightness she has seen there before. Both of them looked as if they’d prefer not to answer that.

She stepped further into the kitchen, noticing now she was closer that both of them looked as if their nights had been less than peaceful. She felt a tinge of savage pleasure at the shared pain between them; after suffering for so long now, it was difficult to dredge up sympathy for them. Shivering despite the warmth of the still-lit fire, Millie wondered if somehow the curse was twisting her soul into something new and dark.

“What stone?” she repeated, her voice harder now.

Hobbes flinched, closing his eyes briefly. Straightening his cane from where it lay against the kitchen island, he enlarged it to staff-size before twisting the nuumite from the gnarled branches that formed the head. “This.” His voice was strange as he extended his arm, holding it out to her in his open palm.

She took it. It was roughly the size of a crab-apple and a dark almost-black grey colour with gold shot through it. As she turned it this way and that, the stone seemed to whisper to her with magic, winking as it caught the light. “This was what I developed during my apprenticeship with Magistra Hardbroom. You will be the third person to know its true purpose,” Hobbes said with very little inflection. He seemed to dislike talking about it. It struck Millie as odd – surely if this was enough to have Constance Hardbroom looking so worried, this was a great piece of magic. The Nick Hobbes she had known would have relished in this achievement.

“I needn’t ask if you remember the Whisperer,” he continued, seeming to want to look anywhere but her face. “When we tried to use Starfinder’s eggs to trap negative magic and draw on it again, we failed. Instead, he drew magic from me. That rock is remarkably like one of Starfinder’s eggs, except the capacity to store negative magic within it is fathomless. Theoretically.”

Millie leaned against the island, placing the seemingly innocuous crystal on the countertop. Hobbes’ greatest weakness had been his lust for power. He wanted power because he had been made to feel so small for so much of his life and chasing power had ultimately torn them apart. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could just make everything disappear for a while. If Hobbes was in possession of such an object, what was to stop him doing anything?

She felt a cool hand on the back of her neck. Opening her eyes, she realised it was Magistra Hardbroom, who was now looking at her with concern. “Mildred. I would not have allowed Mister Hobbes to continue his research if I believed his intentions were malicious. He is not the boy he once was and he has paid dearly for this creation. Let him continue.”

Hobbes looked pained, but he rubbed his face with both hands and the expression was gone. He looked at Millie with a slight smile. “What Starfinder could never fathom, and why his eggs would never work, is that our magic is able to be depleted. Negative magic has a function and this is what Professor Shakeshaft knew and why he was so vehemently opposed to Starfinder’s modern techniques. It wasn’t because they were modern. Shakeshaft may be something of an antique, but he explained it to me like this – picture your magical pathways are simply lines through which your magic passes. These lines are connected to something we can’t see, our magical centre, which is like a lake. Every time you cast a spell, your pathways drain water from the lake. Your negative magic coming back to you after a fashion is the way the lake refills.”

“So if you can’t get the backlash of negative magic the lake dries up,” Mildred finished, comprehension dawning on her. “But negative magic backlash is fairly harmless unless you use harmful spells. Why store negative magic in the nuumite, then?”

“It has two primary functions. To store the negative magic of the user and to absorb the negative magic energy of those around them. Don’t worry,” he added with a wry twist of his mouth. “It needs to be activated to do that. I wouldn’t use it without your consent.”

She nodded and he looked relieved. “As we all know, you cannot circumvent the release of negative magic and you cannot control when it comes back. This is the third function of this thing; the control of the release of negative magic. However, the storing of the energy changes it. The combination of all that negative magic mixing about inside the stone without the laws of nature closing in on it reduces it to its raw form. Our actions, our bodies – they shape and change the magic before it is released. Without that it is vicious and wild, a force that you cannot fathom. _That_ is what becomes of the negative magic inside here.”

They were silent for long moments. Millie was the first to break it. “How did you find this out?” she asked Hobbes, who seemed disinclined to answer as he reached for the nuumite, inserting it into the setting on the top of his staff.

Magister Hardbroom answered for him, her eyes staring off as if into the memory she recalled. “Through foolishness. He thought that the absorption of residual magic in the school by way of the nuumite would increase his power. The resulting release of untamed negative magic into his body was extremely painful and rendered him near dead,” she seemed reluctant to elaborate, but continued. “As you can imagine, the damage this caused Mr Hobbes was severe and debilitating. His recovery was a matter of months, not weeks. It took a full year for his magic to replenish itself. There is a reason for magic functioning as it does and fighting against that natural order does not produce results we wish to repeat.”

All was silent again. Millie, who had this morning felt weary to her very bones, felt wearier still. She knew, as one must when faced with such matters, that Constance and Hobbes were about to ask her if they could use the stone to some end. To the end of the curse or her life she did not know, but she knew that once they broke the silence, there would be no going back.

But it had to be broken. “The potion we have been developing is one of a kind. I have conceived of it specifically for your use. It will stabilise your body into a trance-like state and then trip the curse to release,” Constance explained carefully, looking at the cauldron which still simmered in the fireplace. Toffee lay curled on the rug before it, oblivious to the tumultuous emotions his mistress was feeling. “We thought to trigger the curse and trap it somehow; however there are no means to trap negative magic, not permanently. Mr Hobbes has created the first. Yet the potency of the potion and the release of that magic could kill you. Additionally, we do not know for certain if the sheer volume of the magic – your _life’s magic_ – can be held in the stone.”

“And,” Hobbes continued, his voice grave. “We believe that by consuming your magic, the curse transforms it into something _other_. You may never have your magic back at best and at worst it will- it will kill you.”

“But if I don’t do it,” Millie began slowly. “I will die anyway, won’t I?”

Hobbes looked away, expression pained, but Hardbroom stared her down stoically. “Most assuredly,” she said firmly, though the immense sympathy in her eyes was painful.

In the end, it wasn’t so difficult to make up her mind. “Tonight, then?”

Constance kept her eyes steady on the younger witch and nodded. “Tonight.”

* * *

Once there was a limit on her time, Mildred found it easier to move through the motions of dying. She wrote instructions to be carried out by Magistra Hardbroom in the event of her death. She thought to write to her family and friends but it seemed as if that last memento of her would always be tinged with outrage and regret – if she had known she was going to die, why didn’t she see them sooner? Far better, she thought, to let them to have all their lasting memories together of joy and happiness without the taint of what-ifs.

She spent the last vestiges of the evening light in the garden, simply _being_. Perhaps her companions had sensed that this was a time for her to be alone, for she went undisturbed by any creature other than Toffee. His presence and comfort were simple, uncomplicated by the trappings of human interaction, and she welcomed his rusty purr and warmth.

Though, as the sun began to dip towards the horizon Hobbes joined her, though they said nothing at all for long moments. “I was scared then,” Millie confessed as he settled a blanket around her shoulders, which he soon shared as he took a seat on the bench beside her. “That afternoon, the last time we saw each other. I was so scared about the future, the things you were asking of me, the things _everyone_ expected of me. It was easier to be angry at you than to admit that. It was easier to run.”

His hand found hers as they watched the trees swaying gently in the dying light. “Enough. That’s more than enough. You don’t owe me a damn thing Mildred Hubble, so you can stop being so strong and noble all the time,” his tone was heartbreakingly gentle and she cried then, big heaving sobs as he held her tightly without saying a thing. They had wasted _so much_ time and now she wanted to snatch it all back and fix it.

But she couldn’t. The large sobs turned to sniffles eventually, and through the tear-soaked fabric of Hobbes’ shirt she could feel the pounding of his heart, too fast and alive to bear. Feeling someone live and breathe had never been so painful before. He seemed to sense that the time was almost upon them, because he never let go as he said – “I’ve always been too selfish, never thinking of anyone’s happiness but my own, always expecting to be happy that way. And I haven’t changed Millie, I won’t, and I’ll be damned if I let you go again.”

She didn’t know quite how to answer him. To say ‘I love you’, to give him false assurances, to _hope?_ She could not. Not now. Not when there was so much left to do. Instead, she breathed in his scent and memorised every little thing about him, past and present, to hold on to. If she could hold on to this, hold on to him, then maybe- maybe-

“Then don’t,” she whispered fiercely, lifting her head so she could look into his eyes. “We’ve wasted all this time and now it seems like it was all for nothing. So if I live-”

“Millie-” he interjected with a painful wince.

“ _If_ I live,” she pushed on without heeding him. “I’m going to stop running away. I’ve been too afraid of truly taking a chance on us and I’ve let too much time pass; now there’s no time left. So don’t leave me, Nick. I’m not letting you go either.”

It was too much for Hobbes to contain himself any longer. Tears had started to roll down his cheeks in earnest and some small detached part of her noted that he was a very ugly crier. The larger part of her wanted to start crying along with him, but she seemed to have cried to the last. Instead, she wiggled her arms free from his embrace and wrapped them around his neck, an action which caused him to bury his face into her shoulder, where she held him for some time. Perhaps he would regret it later, this weakness when he believed he had to be strong, but in that moment on the precipice of the unknown, she needed his weakness too.

_I love you_ , every breath seemed to say. _I love you_.

In the end, she found she didn’t need to say it at all. The sun fell from the sky with very little colour to bid it farewell and she thought it fair, that she would not regret missing this last sunset now, so caught up as she had been in her own farewell. Hobbes’ tears were intense, but short-lived, but still she cradled him in her arms thinking, _this is it_. _This is how it feels_.

Magistra Hardbroom cleared her throat from the back entrance.

It was time.

* * *

Inside, candles were lit. The scent of magic was in the air. Millie was led to and sat in the middle of the complicated rune the other witch and wizard had drawn up, feeling strangely disconnected. She locked eyes with them both once more – Constance nodded her approval, mustering a wicked smile, while Hobbes was eerily calm and seemed to gaze right into her soul. Yes, the magic in the air was very strong tonight.

Magistra Hardbroom silently summoned the potion to Millie’s waiting hands. It was contained in an obsidian cup and the smell was potent, almost sickeningly sweet like a festering wound, resembling nothing so much as congealed blood. It was difficult to look away from. She closed her eyes and took the mixture down as quickly as possible, but she could still taste the pungent sweetness, which made her head spin.

The moment the mixture was drained from the cup all feeling seemed to leave her body. She was aware of herself laid back as if she had fallen, though she hovered above the ground and could not fathom where her limbs were. Panicked, she tried to open her eyes, but could not. It was all happening far too fast and she could feel nothing, nothing but the thoughts in her mind and then- then-

_Mildred. I am here._

It was Nick’s voice.

_I told you, I’m not letting you go. Breathe deeply_.

She did.

_I won’t leave you to do this alone. That’s right, keep breathing. Good. Are you ready?_

She wasn’t.

_Let go, my darling. Let go_.

She did. And then-

Nothing.

* * *

_It’s raining._

_“If you’d just listen to me-”_

_“A talent like yours shouldn’t be wasted-”_

_“Not_ again _Hubble-Bubble, I specifically said-”_

_“We don’t know who she could be; it’s just as you-”_

_“Time to wake up, Mildred.”_

_“Have some faith in us for God’s sake-”_

_“Millie-”_

_“Do you like me, Millie?” Unsure, young, older, laughing-_

_“I’m here, I’m right here and instead you just-”_

_“Running away isn’t going to solve anything!”_

_“Millie!”_

_It’s raining, but she’s so warm._

* * *

Mildred realised she was awake once she could feel her whole body aching and stinging unpleasantly. Pins and needles seemed to be forming all over her body, while her muscles were unwilling to comprehend the simple task of being.

Instead of being shocked or relieved, she was profoundly puzzled to realise that she was awake and in her body – her first thought was not one of exuberant joy, but of overwhelming bewilderment. As if to say, goodness, I’m actually alive, aren’t I? She wiggled her fingers and toes and was surprised when they cooperated in their movements. Given the success of that movement, she resolutely decided it was time to open her eyes.

It seemed unreal at first. The light was dim, but still she squinted a little, first recognising the blue and grey patchwork quilt of her bed and then the awful sprigged curtains that she’d been meaning to replace. She can’t quite understand why it all feels so unreal and her thoughts began to race at a hundred miles an hour as she glanced around the room, only stopping short when she noticed the figure sleeping in the reading chair by the aforementioned curtains.

Millie wet her lips and tried to speak, but nothing came out at first. She closed her eyes briefly, taking a few fortifying breaths, then tried again. Very little more than a croaky attempt at the name ‘Ethel’ came out, but the woman woke up anyway with a slight start, looking annoyed (as if Ethel Hallow was ever anything else). “Thank God, I was afraid I’d have to spend an eternity wrangling Hobbes without you,” she said tersely, though she was smiling and her eyes were warm and shining with unshed tears.

Ethel summoned a glass of water and Millie drank from it gratefully after realising how dry and disgusting her mouth felt. “It’s been about a week. Don’t worry, Hobbes didn’t blab to everyone about it, but Hardbroom was going to murder him if I didn’t come and take care of the situation,” her sometimes-friend explained primly as she straightened the edges of the quilt, before helping Millie to sit up. “He’s only not barging in here now because I sent him to bed with a cup of tea two hours ago. He should know to check his drinks, especially if _I’ve_ made them, but he’s ridiculously worried over you, as usual.”

She should be exasperated by all this, but all Millie wants to do is grin because _she’s alive_ and Ethel Hallow is in her bedroom scolding her and looking very much as if she may burst into tears if she stops for a moment. “Thank you,” she said, startling herself slightly with the raspy quality of her voice. “Magistra Hardbroom...?”

“Will be back tomorrow. She said her wife would kill her if she was gone for much longer, though no-one at all seems to care that I have a life too and that Henry-” Ethel stopped and looked Millie up and down. “Need I remind you that you’ve worried everyone sick? At least you don’t look like a corpse anymore. Lord knows you need a proper bath though, cleaning spells can only do so much – your hair is enough to drive someone to insanity.”

Millie chuckled, though the jostling of her body was really quite painful, and then suddenly- she realised what felt so wrong. She focused deep insider herself and- _nothing_. She frowned, was distantly aware of Ethel saying something, and closed her eyes, feeling about in the darkness.

“...dred! Hubble, for God’s sake-!” Ethel shook her harshly, which Mildred did not appreciate one bit.

“He said it might happen, but I never thought...” Millie trailed off softly as Ethel’s harsh shakes became soft and comforting rubs on her arms, conveying a surprising amount of sympathy. “Did you know?”

The other witch released Millie and sat on the bed with a shrug. “We suspected. We don’t know if it will come back or not. Hobbes blames himself of course; you know what he’s like. If it’s anything less than perfect it’s a failure and I said well of course you’d think that, but at least she’s _alive_.”

Ethel had, against all reason, clasped Millie’s hands, and squeezed them. Millie said, with surprise, “You know it- it doesn’t feel bad. I’m just changed, somehow. And maybe tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that I’ll feel something else but I’m just- Ethel, I’m so relieved. I’m so _glad_.”

Ethel snorted. “Of course you are; Hobbes is thick as a brick. And,” she paused for a moment and Millie knew she was feeling with her magic – she may not have hers anymore, but she could still experience Ethel’s, which was straight to the point and a little bit spiky. “About to wake up. I’ll make myself scarce.”

She stood, brushed off her skirt, and then looked at Millie once more. Haltingly, she said, “I’m awfully glad you’re not dead, Hubble,” and rushed out the bedroom door before Millie even had time to formulate some sort of answer to that. Her heeled boots clicked on the floorboards of the hallway with purpose as she strode off and it was such an Ethel exit that she was smiling just at the sound.

Slowly, Millie pulled back the quilt. She wriggled her toes and turned her ankles slowly, testing the joints. Everything still felt in its rightful place, though every joint and muscle protested against her as if she’d run a marathon. Wincing a little at that, she braced her weight on her arms and cautiously manoeuvred her legs over the side of the bed, even though the effort left her panting for breath and slightly shaky. Stopping to catch it, she closed her eyes and reached inside herself again, finding that same hollow feeling as before. Whatever she’d said to Ethel, she had meant it, she was grateful, but she had lied. It didn’t just feel different, it felt _wrong._

“And what exactly to you propose to do in the state you’re in, hm?” Hobbes’ voice caused her eyes to fly open and, once she caught sight of his dishevelled form propped up in the doorway, an _oh_ of relief and joy burst forth from her quite without her permission.

He wasted no time in crossing the room and gathering her into his arms. She squeaked a little as her body protested, but soon enough that was forgotten as he was kissing her with a feverish thankfulness that she returned with equal vigour, despite still being slightly breathless. Realising this, Hobbes relented and with very little persuasion on Millie’s part, joined her on the bed.

Taking his hands in hers, she took the time to examine him thoroughly. Though she knew he had slept just recently, there were still dark smudges beneath his eyes and he looked haggard with weariness. His hair, unbound, was sleep-mussed and contained some lighter strands she could not recall seeing before. Millie released one of his hands so she could free hers, and tucked some of his hair behind his ear gently. “I’m sorry. I made you wait for a long time,” she murmured, and he shook his head silently, dislodging the few parts Millie had managed to tame. “I always was very bad at being on time.”

Hobbes’ lips quirked up at that and she cupped his face with her free hand, feeling the rasp of stubble beneath her palm. “It’s been years for us, what’s a few days more?” he asked flippantly, but his hand was shaking in hers and his eyes were pained.

“Nick-”

“It all went to plan, you know,” he whispered, though his voice gained some strength as he continued. “The negative magic was strong and I- I was right in the firing line when I was using the stone. It was hard to focus all of that raw power at once and I bore the brunt of it I suppose. But afterwards you were so still and quiet that I thought you had-”

She shook her head vehemently and shushed him, though her voice was unsteady with emotion and barely managed to come out at all. Hobbes focused on her and all the tension seemed to leave his body as he exhaled shakily, looking nothing at all like a man with an ego the size of a planet. And Millie felt so glad that after all these years, she was still able to get past the performance of Hobbes and see Nick, who was so unsure and scared. It made her love him all the more.

“I’m here,” she told him gently. “I’m here and I love you, you silly man, so there’s no need for any more of that.”

Though surely it had been said in all that had happened, the words seemed to have a profound effect on Nick, who stuttered out, “Truly?” as if he couldn’t quite process the words.

“Of course,” Millie affirmed, unable to contain her grin. “I thought you knew all the answers?”

Nick laughed too, but it was a bewildered sound or disbelief more than any humour. “The answer to that particular question had been decided a long time ago, I thought. After everything I’ve ever done, I could never hope to hear you say that, not willingly.”

“Shall I say it again?” she teased and he closed his eyes, as if asking a higher power for patience. “I do love you, Nick Hobbes. And the grey hairs are particularly fetching, if you must know.”

At last, he smiled; that true smile that only came out rarely between his smirks and roguish grins. If he ever smiled like that around everyone else, they’d know the truth immediately, seeing it in the crinkle of his eyes. He may have been a very powerful wizard, but he was still an uncertain little boy who was too clever for his own good. “You know I loved you from the first. This is all a bit much for me,” he admitted, kissing her on her forehead.

Millie, who had rested quite well enough, was most unimpressed with that and put her point across rather thoroughly to Hobbes over several moments, leaving them both somewhat breathless and happily flushed. For the first time, Millie was looking towards a future with Nick and, though she was quite frightened that maybe things would never be the same and that maybe she wouldn’t ever get her magic back again, she wasn’t going to waste any more time.

The future was waiting for them and she would go running towards it, without regret.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my sister who is, as always, my number one fan (and beta). Without her urging and enthusiasm, I would never have been able to finish this fic. 
> 
> Any inaccuracies with the world of Worst Witch/Weirdsister College are entirely my own fault and (for the most part) wilfully done, as the canon has some very interesting ways of dealing with magic that have been left unexplained.


End file.
